


pastel rebellion

by littlelionvanz



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Gen, More or less minor appearances from Ronan and Adam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-06-26
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1848340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelionvanz/pseuds/littlelionvanz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together; Ronan must have snuck some hair dye into Gansey’s shampoo or conditioner, or both, leaving his formerly sierra-toned hair, a pale shade of pink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pastel rebellion

**Author's Note:**

> 900% inspired by [this picture of rj king](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_ltadfrsE1e1qaw7dbo1_500.jpg)

It started off with a scream. Well, not so much as a scream, so much as it was an anguished wail of despair and horror. Blue heard it before she even made it to the first step of Monmouth Manufacturing. Someone was being brutally axed murdered, and with that image in mind, she flew up the impossibly high steps. Her backpack was left eventually as dead weight when she burst through to find no blood, no murder weapons.

Just Ronan Lynch doubled over in hysterics, Adam Parrish holding his face in his hands failing his hardest not to laugh and Noah Czerny no where to be found. Gansey was storming out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist.

And incredibly pink hair.

“I HAVE TO LEAVE FOR DC IN AN HOUR, RONAN. _AN HOUR_. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE SEEN IN PUBLIC LIKE THIS!”

It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together; Ronan must have snuck some hair dye into Gansey’s shampoo or conditioner, or both, leaving his formerly sierra-toned hair, a pale shade of pink. And it didn’t matter how angry Gansey was, it seemed the more he tried to plead with Ronan, the harder Ronan was laughing. To the point where it was coming out in gasping, aching, teary-eyed wails of mania.

“DO YOU SEE WHAT HE’S DONE TO ME JANE?!” Gansey was pleading with Blue, once he saw her in the doorway. He didn’t seem to mind his own semi-nudity, and not that Blue didn’t get in a few peeks at what sort of body was bred of the Gansey Genetic Pool, with assistance from the Aglionby Rowing Team. But there were more important things to focus on right now than his pecs.

Like how his hair was a frazzled mess of varying shades of pink; the top most part the most vibrant, and down near the crown, it was a blend of pink and yellow and brown from his natural hair. It almost looked like a sunset. Not that Blue felt the need to make that verbal observation right now.

“Honestly, Gansey,” Blue managed to say with a straight voice, “It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a prank. I’m sure your family will understand and have a big laugh about it.”

Gansey narrowed his eyes and his nostrils flared. He flattened his voice and said quickly and impressively in one breath, “Jane, I’m supposed to make appearances at several fundraisers and public events of some of the wealthiest people in the state and country- most of whom still think rap music is the work of Satan. Do you _think_ they’re going to be the ones to _get a big laugh about it_.”

Well it was worth a shot, and Ronan still shared no sympathy or remorse. Adam stood off to the side, leaning against the sofa insisting that he had nothing to do with this personal crime against Richard Gansey III, but amused enough to not offer solutions.

It wasn’t so much the prank itself that was funny, Blue eventually realized. It was Gansey’s reaction to it and that was probably Ronan’s end objective. What would be the thing that would make Gansey lose his collective shit, outside of harming The Pig.

 

Gansey regained himself by the time it was time to leave. His hair was managed in the traditional Gansey, Presidential-Casual way. His bag was packed and he barely spoke to Ronan on his way out because even _looking_ in Ronan’s general direction sent his friends on another giggling fit. Gansey instead came to Blue instead.

As ever, he stood comfortably close so that Blue could smell the mint and vanilla and cleanness of him. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, Jane.”

Honestly, she wasn’t mad and nor did she blame him for losing his temper. “It’s okay. If you want I can help you dye it back when you get home?”

Gansey smiled, out of pure relief. “That would be great, seriously.” He came closer now, to bend near her ear. “Think you can hang around a bit this weekend? Make sure my stuff isn’t sabotaged in my absence?”

Blue felt her skin bristle. She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t necessary because there was nothing more that Ronan could do to him that would reach the same effect, but instead she said, “Okay.”

 

Gansey had lived and grew up in the Old Virginia aesthetic he was about to venture into - the self-congratulatory circle of senators, congressmen, donors, and lobbyists of DC’s upper circle. Gansey’s job, as it was explained to him plainly, was to just please and impress and make his mother and the Gansey name proud. He’d done it a thousand times. A million times. It was hard for people not to love him.

He never found himself caring necessarily about what they thought about him, he merely showed them the side of himself they needed to see to be comfortable, and that his father approved of.

Needless to say, his finely combed mop of pink hair did not fit that criteria. His mother looked horrified, his father looked _pissed_ , and Helen merely laughed hilariously at it. The thing was though, Gansey knew it was just _hair_. It was hair. But his image was only loaned out by the family like a library book, and he’d colored pristine cover in highlighter.

“It was just a stupid prank,” he found himself actually defending Ronan. “I’m going to fix it back as soon as I get home.” His parents looked at him dubiously, as if they didn’t believe him. He knew they were wondering to themselves just exactly was going on in Henrietta that he was going around dying his hair pink. Next Gansey was sure they were going to ask him if he was on drugs.

It was almost funny when he thought about it - of all the things Gansey could do to piss off his parents in that quintessential teenage fashion, pink hair. Pastel Rebellion.

 

Helen told him he should arrange his outfit for the fundraiser to match his hair. Gansey thought she was just being her typical smug Helen self, but then she said, “You’re stuck with it, so you might as well own it. At least pretend you did it on purpose.”

And so he made his appearance in the ballroom of his family’s home in a white jacket, white shirt with lime green pinstripes, and a bright pink bowtie that Helen procured impressively fast in the thirty minutes prior. He was right though, there were looks. Some confused, some eyebrows raised. Some whispers he forced himself not to listen to. Still, as only Gansey could do, he smiled through it.

He compiled at least seven different lies.

“I felt I needed a personal change,” he told to an oil lobbyist from Baltimore.

“It was either that or green,” he said to a DC police commissioner.

“All the kids are doing it,” he said to Vice President Joe Biden.

The thing Gansey didn’t expect though, was that people really _really_ liked it. Especially the older women who eyed Gansey, not like most grandmother-aged women should eye seventeen year old boys. He awkwardly let them touch it like it was truly a marvel.

“The youth are truly adventurous these days,” exclaimed a councilwoman Gansey forgot the name of when she patted his cheek.

People were drawn to him, curious about him. Showing Gansey pictures of their daughters and listing off their accomplishments. One man pulled him off to the side and said, “You know I have a son your age. I think he’d be very interested in meeting you.”

All Gansey could think in that moment how he almost wished his friends were here to see it. Ronan would have giddily pleased with how this entire prank turned out.

He was offered the arms of some of DC’s most eligible ladies to dance with who were so unabashedly smitten with Gansey’s bright smile and brighter hair.

Gansey felt different. Not because people were treating him different, but that he could exist with those brave people who didn’t care about what others thought. Those who gave themselves the freedom to _not _care. To be bold. It was just hair and it seemed to stupid to get excited over, but it represented everything Gansey wasn’t. Not that he didn’t necessarily care for himself before, but this was.. fun. It could have been vain, but he chose to think of it a minor self-indulgence. Because he was 17 years old and adulthood was still so far off, when he thought about it.__

And he hated and was thankful for Ronan now.

He arrived back in Henrietta after his parents regaling how much of a success he was among the people they needed to sway over. He never wore sunglasses much, but he was feeling 10 shades of cool now and was riding on a air of not caring.

Everyone was in the driveway of Monmouth, including Blue. He pushed the Ray Bans up onto his head before emerging not like he left just two days ago. Lighter, pleasant.

“Okay,” Blue rushed to him first. “I bought two different shades of blond and dirty blond that I think is as close to your natural hair as we can get.”

Gansey pondered for a second before shaking his head. “You know Jane,” he took a deep breath. “I think I’m gonna keep the pink for a bit.”

Ronan’s mouth hung open and all Gansey could hear next was the oddly charming accent of Adam saying, “Bet you didn’t see that one coming.”


End file.
